( 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 )

ix. unhappy valentines day

Hermione remained in the hospital wing for several weeks. There was a flurry of rumors about her sudden disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because, of course, everyone thought that she had been attacked. So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey placed her curtains around Hermione's bed to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face and whiskers.

Harry and Ron went to visit her every evening. And every time they would try to convince Matilda to go along with them. She always refused. But when the new term started, Matilda brought them each day of Hermione's homework. Because, if she were to be the brightest witch to walk the halls of Hogwarts, it certainly wouldn't be by default.

"I don't get it..." said Ron, his face twisted with confusion as Matilda lay pieces of parchment full of notes written by her on top of the books filling his arms. "You get her work, take her notes, but won't visit her?"

"Yeah, why not just come see her with us this evening, Tilly?" said Harry. "She'd probably like it."

Matilda rolled her eyes. They had this conversation every day now, it seemed.

"Because I am not Hermione's friend. I can offer her no words of comfort" she told them. "Though I can respect her, and because I do, I refuse to allow her to fail."

Ron looked at Harry, "Girls are weird."

Harry looked at Matilda. He knew better than to agree.

Matilda had been wandering aimlessly around the neverending halls that lined the stone castle. It was getting late in the evening. Her heels clicked softly on the floor, echoing off the long walls. She hadn't known what she was doing. Restlessness is what she'd chalked it up to. Stir crazy. She'd been cooped up for too long, and bitten her nails down to the quick already. A habit she's been trying to break for years now.

That's when the voices sounded down, at the far end of the hall, toward the hospital wing. Of course, she knew who the voices belonged to. Especially when one asked how many rat tails you add to a Hair Rising Potion. It'd been a question assigned during Potions for homework. Finally, Harry and Ron had rounded a corner, nearly bumping right into her.

"What are you doing here?" asked Harry.

"Nothing," said Matilda, her answer coming too quickly. "I'm just – just a bit restless is all."

"Were you going to visit Hermione?" asked Ron, wearing the slightest grin.

She shook her head, "No! – No, of course not. I've just been cooped up and needed to go for a walk to calm me down, is all."

Ron had opened his mouth once more, most likely to say he didn't believe her, but an angry outburst from the floor above reached their ears.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered as they hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron tensely.

Matilda shrugged, "Do we really wish to find out?"

They stood still, their heads inclined toward Flich's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"Even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final

straw, I'm going to Dumbledore —"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Who knows?" Matilda scoffed.

"Let's go and see," said Harry,

Matilda's eyes widened, "What? No. Why?"

Harry didn't stick around to answer. She followed him, holding her robes over her ankles as they stepped through the rushing water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored, as it always was, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"Context, Myrtle," Matilda rolled her eyes.

Harry waded across to her stall, Ron and Matilda behind him, and said, "Why would we throw something at you?

"Could think of a few reasons, actually," whispered Ron, making the ends of Matilda's lips turn upwards.

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto

the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me..."

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

"Right through her..." said Matilda. "Just like any thought she's ever had."

They had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at

Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if

it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Myrtle, that's terrible," Matilda said, shaking her head, a look of sadness crossing over her face. "No one should ever treat a book in such a thoughtless way."

Myrtle only cried louder.

"Who threw it at you anyway?" asked Harry, trying to quiet Myrtle's wails.

"I don't know... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out..."

Matilda looked at the standing water, then at her shoes, shaking her head, "No," she said simply. "I'm not walking in the water that spewed from drains."

So, she stood as Harry and Ron waded through the foggy water and looked beneath the sink where Myrtle was pointing. Matilda craned her neck to try and see for herself.

"Well?" she asked impatiently. "What's the book?"

"I'm not sure," said Harry.

Matilda watched him reach beneath the sink but Ron flung toward him to hold him back.

"What?" asked Harry.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Oh come off it, Ronald," Matilda scoffed. "The only dangerous thing about it is that it was used for target practice."

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated Dad's told me — there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And —"

"All right, I've got the point," said Harry.

Neither of them moved toward the soggy book.

"Well, we won't know if it's dangerous until we pick it up then," said Matilda, and Harry ducked around Ron and picked the book up off the floor.

Matilda saw it then. A small, thin book. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom.

When Harry brought it back over, Matilda saw at once that it was a diary. And the faded year on the cover told her it was fifty years old. She urged Harry to open it. On the first page, she could just barely make out the name, T.M. Riddle, in old, smudged ink.

"Hang on," said Ron, who had approached cautiously and was looking over Harry's shoulder. "I

know that name... T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the school fifty years ago."

"An award?" asked Matilda.

"How on earth d'you know that?" said Harry in amazement.

"Because Filch made me polish his shield about fifty times in detention," said Ron resentfully. "That was the one I burped slugs all over. If you'd wiped slime off a name for an hour, you'd remember it, too."

Harry peeled the wet pages apart. They were completely blank. There wasn't the faintest trace of writing on any of them, not even Auntie Mabel's birthday, or dentist, half-past three.

"It's blank," said Matilda, disappointed.

"I wonder why someone wanted to flush it away?" said Ron curiously.

"Well, that just about settles it then," said Matilda with a sign and a shrug.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"The book," she points to it. "It's obviously got something to do with the Chamber."

"What would a journal someone never wrote in have to do with Salazar Slytherin?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed.

"Does seem a bit far-fetched," agreed Ron.

"Does it? Does it really, Ronald?" asked Matilda, nodding along with him. "The journal seems a bit far-fetched, but not the monster going about the school and petrifying our classmates?"

Ron gulped, he shook his head.

"It's from Vauxhall Road, London," said Harry suddenly, turning to the back cover of the book, and finding the printed name of a variety store there. "He must have been muggle-born."

"Or half-blood," shrugged Matilda.

"Well, it's not much use to us," said Ron. He dropped his voice. "Fifty points if you can get it

through Myrtle's nose."

Matilda's head snapped toward Harry, "Don't you dare, Harry Potter."

So, instead of throwing the diary, Harry pocketed it. 

By the beginning of February, Hermione was finally able to leave the hospital wing, de-whiskered, tailless, and without a trace of fur on her. On her first evening back, they'd invited Matilda to Gryffindor Tower to show Hermione T.M. Riddle's diary and they told her the story of how they found it.

"Oooh, it might have hidden powers," said Hermione enthusiastically, taking the diary and

looking at it closely.

Matilda sighed, laying across an armchair, her legs dangling, "I've looked. Can't find anything that suggests it's anything more than a simple journal."

"Yeah, if it has, it's hiding them very well. Tilly's tried everything," said Ron. "Maybe it's shy. I don't know why you don't chuck it, Harry."

"I wish I knew why someone did try to chuck it," said Harry. "I wouldn't mind knowing how Riddle got an award for special services to Hogwarts either."

"You and me both, Potter," scoffed Matilda, sitting up. "I've been trying to find a way to get that award before I even got here," she told them. "Only problem is, offering my services, especially when they're wanted, isn't something I much enjoy doing."

"It really could've been anything," said Ron. "Maybe he got thirty O.W.L.s or saved a teacher from the giant squid. Maybe he murdered Myrtle; that would've done everyone a favor..."

"I'd murder Myrtle..."

The room quieted, Matilda looked around, just then realizing she'd said that out loud.

"I mean, without her flooding the toilets the lines in the other bathrooms would be shorter..." she defended herself.

And Hermione even shrugged, almost agreeing with her.

"Well, the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, wasn't it?" he said. "That's what

Malfoy said."

"Look, it's got something to do with the Chamber," said Matilda, not a single shred of doubt in her words. "Malfoy said the Chamber was opened fifty years ago – and this diary is fifty years old."

"Exactly!" said Hermione excitedly.

"So?" asked Ron.

"Oh, Ron, wake up," snapped Hermione. "We know the person who opened the Chamber last time was expelled fifty years ago. We know T. M. Riddle got an award for special services to the

school fifty years ago. Well, what if Riddle got his special award for catching the Heir of Slytherin? His diary would probably tell us everything — where the Chamber is, how to open it, and what sort of creature lives in it — the person who's behind the attacks this time wouldn't want that lying around, would they?"

"That's a brilliant theory, Hermione," said Ron, "with just one tiny little flaw. There's nothing written in his diary."

But Hermione was pulling her wand out of her bag.

"It might be invisible ink!" she whispered.

She tapped the diary three times and said, "Aparecium!"

Nothing happened. Undaunted, Hermione shoved her hand back into her bag and pulled out what

appeared to be a bright red eraser.

Matilda watched the excitement drain out of her.

"It's a Revealer, I got it in Diagon Alley," she said.

"Ah," said Matilda, eyebrows raised, as if she'd never heard of the item before.

Hermione rubbed hard on January first. Nothing happened.

The excitement slowly drained from her eyes and she let out a defeated sigh.

"You don't think I would have thought to try any of that in the month that we've had the diary?" asked Matilda.

They have. They'd tried it all. Nothing ever happened.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to find in there," said Ron. "Riddle just got a diary for

Christmas and couldn't be bothered filling it in."

"We need to find out more about whoever this T.M. Riddle is," Hermione shook her head.

"His name was actually Tom Riddle," Matilda told them. "He was a Slytherin. He was Head Boy which indicated he'd been a Prefect during his time. Intelligent. Sounds great on paper, really."

Ron watched her, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"How do you know all of this?"

Matilda shrugged, "Research. I talked to my dad who also happened to be a Slytherin, I assumed stories are passed down. And honestly just asking around. You'd be surprised how much stuff one could find out here. Wizards are such gossips, it's maddening."

"He sounds like Percy," said Ron, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Prefect, Head Boy... top of every class —"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Hermione in a slightly hurt voice.

"It's a sham," said Matilda. "I can feel it. No one is that great without getting their hands dirty. No one has all of that power by performing good deeds and some kind of community service."

Hermione hadn't liked Matilda's theory at all. She'd thought one could be plainly good and still achieve all that Tom Riddle seemed to. But she'd been too exhausted to argue with Matilda for long and eventually seen herself off to bed. Ron ended up dozing off on the couch not too long after. Eventually, Harry and Matilda had been the only two left awake in the Gryffindor Tower.

Matilda looked at the diary in Harry's hand. Still stained by the bathroom water. Its pages were wrinkled and ripped now from it. She sighed. Matilda didn't like mysteries. She didn't like not having an answer for things. People said some things were simply unexplainable but she'd never believed that. She believed they'd all just been too lazy, or too dumb, to find an explanation.

And suddenly, it hit her. Perhaps they hadn't tried everything just yet.

"Harry," she said, getting his attention. He looked up at her, his own eyes starting to fall closed. "Walk me out, will you?"

He seemed confused but nodded, leading the way through the tower and out of the portrait hole. Matilda stopped just at the top of the stairs and turned back to Harry.

"You might try writing in it."

Harry blinked, "What?"

"The diary," Matilda told him. "Write in it..." she shrugged, "There's a thing — I mean, I read once that wizards could keep their memories locked away as if keeping them safe. Well, what better place than a diary, right?"

Though he seemed more confused than he might have ever been before, Harry nodded.

"Alright," he told her. "I'll write in it."

"What harm could it do to try?"

She'd told herself it was just a nightmare. Somehow she'd stumbled down the wrong corridor and walked through the wrong door. This wasn't the Great Hall. It couldn't be.

Except, it was. And Matilda had not walked into the wrong room.

It was the morning of February 14th.

The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. Matilda went over to the Ravenclaw table, where her roommates sat, Padma and Cho seemed to have been overcome with giggles. Luna though, sat as if she hadn't noticed any change in the room at all.

"What is all of this?" Matilda asked them, sitting down and wiping confetti off her toast.

Padma pointed to the teachers' table, apparently too flustered to speak. Lockhart, wearing lurid pink robes to match the decorations, was waving for silence. The teachers on either side of him were looking stony-faced. From where he sat, Matilda could see a muscle going in Professor McGonagall's cheek. Snape looked as though someone had just fed him a large beaker of Skele-Gro. And Professor Flitwick just seemed quite tired of it all.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Lockhart shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all - and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly-looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

"So cute," Cho gushed.

Matilda's expression soured even more. She knew she'd be seeing this exact scene again in her nightmares.

My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion? And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

"Padma, please tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," said Matilda, leaning across the breakfast table, when the rumble of the Great Hall finally sounded again.

Padma suddenly became very interested in the ice floating around in her goblet and didn't answer.

"This is all so meaningless," grumbled Matilda. "There's so much more to worry about than St. Patrick!"

She stabbed at the bowl of strawberries in front of her.

"I think it's quite brilliant."

Claire Morgenstern.

The very type Matilda knew would find all this gaudiness nice.

Though Daisy Morgenstern's older sister, they couldn't be any less alike. While Daisy was mousy and quiet, Claire was loud and obnoxious. You'd never find the eldest Morgenstern daughter with her nose buried in a book, but hand her a mirror and she may just stare for hours, perfecting the bouncy curl of her vibrant red hair.

"I tHiNk ItS qUiTe BrIlLiAnT..." Matilda mocked, her voice nasally and high. "Of course, you would... a holiday like this – the pretty colors and shiny presents, it's meant to entertain those of feeble minds."

"Are you calling me stupid, Winters?" Claire Morgenstern practically hissed at her.

Cho turned quickly to her friend, trying to calm her down, telling her Matilda was only joking.

Except she wasn't joking, and she hated when people spoke for her.

"No, not stupid, Claire," she smiled. "It's just, you might not be the brightest of the jewels, but you sure will be wearing it."

"Tilly!" yelled Cho. "That isn't funny."

"Am I laughing, Cho?"

Though she may not have been laughing outwardly, on the inside, Matilda was very much enjoying the reddening anger of Claire Morgenstern.

All day long, the dwarfs kept barging into their classes to deliver valentines, to the annoyance of the teachers, and late that afternoon as the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were walking up the stairs, one of the dwarfs caught up with Harry.

"Oy, you! 'Arty Potter!" shouted a particularly grim-looking dwarf, elbowing people out of the way to get to Harry.

Matilda stopped, watching on, feeling Harry's embarrassment. All of them were surrounded by first years, who giggled at the sight. Harry had tried to escape. The dwarf, however, hit his way through the crowd by kicking people's shins and reached him before he had gone two steps.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

Harry shook his head, whispering something she couldn't make out to the dwarf.

"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling him back.

"Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor. Matilda moved through the crowd now, trying to get to him.

"What's going on here?" came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. Harry started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away from Malfoy, likely before he could hear his musical valentine.

"What's all this commotion?" said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived.

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor.

Sighing, Matilda took a step back. There was nothing she could do to help him now.

"Right," he said, sitting on Harry's ankles. "Here is your singing valentine:

His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he was mine, he's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord

Matilda pressed her lips into a tight line. She watched Harry's expression, he looked as if he'd give all the gold in the world to evaporate right now. Though he did try to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, and Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were now crying with mirth.

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," he said, shooing some of the younger students away. "And you, Malfoy-"

She had watched him pick it up then. And reached to snatch it quickly away. But he drew his hand back quickly, holding the diary just out of her reach. Matilda snarled at his smirk.

"Give that back," said Harry.

"Wonder what Potter's written in this?" said Malfoy, who obviously hadn't noticed the year on the cover and thought he had Harry's own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers.

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.

"Draco..." Daisy Morgenstern's voice sounded soft. "Just give the journal back."

"When I've had a look," said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

"You're going to get in trouble, Draco," Daisy pleaded from her usual spot behind him, trying to pull him away by his robes.

"No worries, Harry," scoffed Matilda, glaring at Draco with a burning hatred. "Not as if the dingbat can actually read."

Percy said, "As a school prefect -" but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air.

Ron, who Matilda hadn't seen this entire time, caught it.

"Harry!" said Percy loudly. "No magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this, you know!"

"Report him? For what?" laughed Matilda, "Draco tripped, that's all."

"It's true," said Ron. "Just ask anyone who was here."

But Harry didn't seem to care at all if he was reported. Malfoy was looking furious, while Matilda walked past him, laughing tauntingly as she nodded a slight greeting to Daisy. 

Heart-shaped confetti and pink streamers still littered the Great Hall as students filled the seats for supper. Matilda looked around the large room, feeling sick to her stomach. She'd heard about a hundred songs echoing through the halls. None of them were good, either. And they were still around too, pacing up and down the rows of tables, taunting the students, teasing. Who would be the next to be embarrassed in front of their peers?

Matilda looked up at the streamers above her, deciding she would rather strangle herself with one of them, rather than be sung to by a dwarf dressed as Cupid.

Padma had been telling her all day she was just being dramatic and needed to loosen up and enjoy the festivities, but she couldn't. Her guard had been up all day. Hand on her wand, wondering when one of those little devils with wings and arrows might sneak up on her.

"Are you thee maiden, Matilda Winters?"

A low raspy voice sounded behind her. A piece of asparagus fell from her mouth and into a pile of steamed dumplings sitting on her plate. Eyes widened in her, Matilda froze, she felt her body go rigid. She couldn't even blink.

No one around her looked amused. Some even raised their plate, as if to shield themselves from something. Padma's eyes filled with worry and the smile that had once been on Cho's face fell. Everyone watched Matilda, waiting, wondering when the first hit would come.

But she couldn't – her voice, it was stuck in her throat. She was choking on it.

"Hello?" a small hand waved in front of her face.

Finally, she blinked. Her eyes burned just as much as her cheeks. Finally, she looked at the dwarf. It wasn't the same one who had sung to Harry. This one seemed a bit more pleasant.

"Yes!" someone answered for her, an excited voice, one so nasally, Matilda would know it anywhere. Her gaze shifted and Claire Morgenstern sat, smiling ear to ear, eyes shining in delight. "This is Matilda Winters!"

Matilda couldn't even speak to threaten Claire — but oh, she wanted to.

"I have ye here a valentine, m'lady," the dwarf fell to a knee, raising its arms high above his head, presenting a folded red envelope. A blue, sapphire-shaped sticker, just like the very sapphire she'd worn around her neck since the day she turned eleven, held the enveloped flap down.

Slowly, Matilda reached her hand out and took the offering from the dwarf. It rose from the floor, nodding, then turned away.

Matilda's eyebrows furrowed, "That's it?"

"That's it?" Claire Morgenstern yelled, angry. "I thought we were getting songs! All of us!"

The dwarf turned back, "This had been a specific request."

The Great Hall slowly livened up again as conversations continued. Matilda sucked in a shaky breath and turned back to her food, laying the envelope carefully beside her on the wooden bench.

Padma's eyes were still wide, "Well, read it to us!"

"Who's it from? C'mon, Tilly!" Cho grinned, speaking dreamily.

"A lot of requests are coming from those to who the letter was not addressed," said Matilda, glaring at her two roommates, sitting across from her.

They nodded, and quickly left any conversation of the envelope alone. Not even bringing it back up when they'd all gotten back to the room, all of them beneath their covers, no one mentioned it. But Matilda couldn't stop thinking about it. The card tore from the envelope burning through her pillow.

It was late, she knew that, and she should have been asleep. But she knew she wouldn't get any as long as what was written in that letter remained a mystery to her. So, she sat up, her roommates asleep, pulled the generic valentines from beneath her pillow, and flipped it open. The light at the tip of her wand was dim, only bright enough for her to see the scribbles across the card.

She read the words once. And then again. Part of was trying to decipher the writing on the paper. The other part wondered how someone could know her like this, see her like this. It was frightening.

But Matilda smiled. And when she finally closed the card, she placed the card back beneath her pillow, right beside her wand, and fell asleep quite easily. 

ϟ

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆

Short chapter but a fun read!

But who sent the card to Matilda? And what could it have said?

This chapter has been edited. You can tell if a chapter has been edited by looking at the title font (it'll look like this one) or at the end of every chapter, it'll have a stamp of the date it's been edited.

&

As always, I ask that you leave comments on how you liked this chapter here. Comment all of your thoughts and theories here. Let me know your opinions on characters and views on characterization. Are we hating or liking Matilda? Any ideas on her role yet? I'm excited to read about all of your thoughts.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝟖/𝟖/𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑